The hunter is hunted
Twisting between the trees
Turned into doe from nymph
Trailed by her lover’s bow
Tumbling through the forest
Two golden horns that shine
To rise into the skies
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Two men wake
Two men go to work
Kiss their children goodbye
Work
Earn their wages
Provide
Come home
Love their children
Make love to their wives
Sleep
One man sends the other
A bomb in a package
Nothing between these men
But a thin fence
And hate
Dressed up as ideology
As fight against injustice
As religion
As revenge
But it is nothing
But the empty
Hate
Of little men
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
So many connections
So many lines
All taut and humming
Junctions and switches
A house of cards
Delicately balanced
Systems
Working to full capacity
One break from collapse
Such is life
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Copper
The poor relation
In the metal family
First to be used
Didn’t even get an age
Rich, lustre
That draws you on
Emboxed
Entrenched
Inside our own little
Echo chambers
Not hearing
Views
Not seeing
Sites
Shouting
Only our way
The world wide web
Tightens
Promised to widen the world
Instead
Narrowed our minds
Marriage was forbidden
Mortal husband taken
Masked in a veil of shame
Must watch her husband’s pain
Most faint in the heavens
Marred by following love
Misty those lives above
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Archibald the Wizard
Is a very dodgy man.
He seeks out naughty snowstorms
And sends them to Japan.
He’d like to paint Picasso
Or Cézanne if he could.
He sends up purple smoke signs
From a tower in the wood.
He strums a harp a little
And bangs an old tin can.
Has Beaujolais on chips
According to the plan.
He strikes an unheard chord
In the hearts of all he sees.
But still he sends those snowflakes
Over oriental Seas.
Cross him at your peril
As many have found out.
Beneath his smoking jacket
Lies a sherry lout.
He doesn’t care for you or me
He doesn’t care at all.
He plots and schemes and gurgles.
Behind his wobbly wall.
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Fleeing from killers
The child runs desperately
To fill out a form
Mother of he who brought
Music up to the Gods
Malice turned to justice
Magic cascading from
Mother of the world storm
Mighty God of the earth
Must meet a mortal end.
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
They undertake
The task of taking
Us from one world
The the other
When we are finally
Overtaken by life’s
Final act
A grave undertaking
If ever there was
Ever shining bright spark
Equalizing her rage
Encompassing justice
Ever seeking revenge
Endless pain unanswered
Echoing from murder
Electra takes her aim
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Forest
Verdant, alive
Roots reaching out and down
Branches stretching up to the sky
Spellbound
#Cinquain
Fastidious and precise
You know
Like the song
Only not nice
For no Queen here
Just the killer
Trawling in the dark
The icy deep
Caressed by the wide sea
Corals catch the new child
Carry her to the shore
Colliding with bright fate
Climbing into the sky
Coronal light shines out
Cascading to the sea
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
The urge to straighten
Is the craving for perfection
The mark of human striving
The inspiration
And the curse
That will save or damn us
A nymph darts between trees
Afraid of the hunter
Always close behind her
Away she flees in haste
Another danger lurks
At her feet as she runs
A butterfly is born
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Every hug given
Imparts a part of you
In return for a piece of another
Those who embrace the world
Shall be more of it
The blood of stars
Drives the magic of our dreams
Bound in dragon tears
Flames flicker
Time ticks
Down
War draws
Nearer
For the quick
End of time
Draws near
Who will heal
The rifts?
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Blue star beam
Slides by a smoky moon
Dances through Saturn’s rings
A lone abyssal tune
Lingers by the Jovian storms
Then on to lunar dust
Down through cool and silent sky
Drawn down and down like lust
Brief it touches silken skin
Pauses for a spell
Then down into the darkness
Of the iris that does swell.
Crisis everyday
When did this start?
When will normality
Return
Is this the price
Of years of hard work
Maybe I should just sweep roads
Noble simplicity
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Red
Swathes in fields
Too many
Black and white
The headlines
That sowed the seed
Grey
The problems
The ethics
The guns
Yellow
the gas
and the memories
Red
Remembrance
and ledger
Eyes
Red and raw
Seen too much
Filled
With work
and bills
and tears
Clang, chip! clang chip! Clang chip! Blow.
Scratch, dip. Scratch, dip. Scratch, dip. Flow.
Block, press. Block press. Block, press. Squeeze.
Click, roll. Click, roll. Click, roll. Please.
Clackety clack. Clackety clack. Clackety clack. Slide.
Tip tap tap. Tip tap tap. Tip tap tap. Pride.
Stone to scroll to press to type to screen.
Where next the word?
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
There was a young diver called laurel
Who spent her life in the coral
Of the men of the land
She dismissed them offhand
As she found them just far too amoral
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
The fat white man
Built a castle
And ruled within his walls
Lived with impunity
and flowing wealth
A harem for his use
and other toys
spiced and prepared
He slumps
In his foetid
white
flesh
Those without
devalued
cheap
Turned cheapness to gold
Built better
Bigger castle
The fat white man
Never noticed the decline
The decaying walls
The deserters
The fall
Time
is
Up
Tarns tributaries tumble down
heather cloaked hills
red-brown tufts twitching in the wind
Cold water, cold air, eagle riding the high winds
Wolves range over moors
Sheep shiver, shepherds huddle
Fire crackles, broth steams
Tarns tributaries tumble down
heather cloaked hills
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Electron around and around an atom’s core
Atoms around and around each other
Mass around mass and air around rock
Rock around and around rock
Moon around and around earth
Earth around and around Sun
A billion suns around galactic core
Spiralling into the dark
A billion galaxies dance their endless dance
Around and around and around
I stand still
(A triolet)
Hand in hand we all walk tonight
Mother, Father and loving son
Watching darkness bursting with light
Hand in hand we all walk tonight
Sky flowers blooming burn our sight
This time of year is always fun
Hand in hand we all walk tonight
Mother, Father and loving son
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Life gives us all gifts
Wonderful, tearful, joyful
Death gathers them back
A silent sunset
Calm waters ripple slowly
Dark storm clouds gather
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
The carnivores
Cruising
Among the vegetarians
Only the toughest
Weeds will survive
This
Trick or treating
With our son
For the first time
Wishing the other
Were here
As the demons cavort
and dance
Gathering their loot
Doing their worst
Other flesh freezes
Starved of food and hope
Is one man’s fun
Another’s murder?
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
A pounding headache
The fruit of today’s labour
Now going to sleep
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Tiny starbursts
The peak on tiny waves
Deep green over yellow
Swaying weeds
Dappled stones
Dark fish darting
The scent of rich water
And reeds
Time to watch
Relax
The life I crave
Instead
Work, bills, sleep, stress
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Celebratory
The warming rays of the sun
Making the waves dance
#haiku
Time for the flowers to bloom again
Red
Like blood
That was shed
A century ago
And every day since
One day
They will be white
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
If I am a student
Of life
The lessons
Are lost
On me
As I can change
Nothing
Stuck
In the proverbial
Mud
Passing the parcel
Noisy musical statues
Children’s birthday joy
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
He slew the great beast
Whose mother took her revenge
The great Beowulf
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
The King who was
And shall be
Stirs restive in his sleep
Sword in hand
Ready
Who will it smite?
Invaders or haters
Will justice by the sword
Ever be served?
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Age lends hindsight depth
Wisdom accrued painfully
It still doesn’t help
I am the hunter
The bringer down of prey
The destroyer
The shadow
The bringer of fear.
I am the master of war
The hoarder of riches
The steel lord
The holder of lightning
I am strength and glory
So why do I still struggle in vain
There was a white fleck on that dark skin. Tiny and mysterious. Despite his situation, despite his thirst and an undetermined, lurking threat Dan was drawn to that fleck.
It sat on his captor’s left cheek, just beneath the deep well of his eye. Neither the man’s sweat or occasional movements seemed to shake it.
What was it? A fleck of stone? A crumb? It did not belong there and it was starting to annoy Dan.
His captor did not appear to notice it.
That annoyed him even more and he did not understand why.
Was it correct to think of the man as his captor? He was not preventing Dan from leaving.
He was not helping him either. That was the point. Without help, he would die out here in the bush. He was spent. He did not even have the energy to struggle any more.
He had lost his way in his arrogance, thinking he could travel the outback like those explorers he loved to read about.
He was no explorer. He should have stayed behind his desk. But he had wanted to see something of the land he had been helping to administer for so long. He had wanted to see the fruits of his work.
He had wanted to feel first-hand the pride of taming this uncivilized wilderness.
That was what had drawn him over the wide seas to the other side of the world. The promise of adventure. The chance to relive the dreams of a young schoolboy. The final chance to push the last frontier. To achieve man’s mastery of the world and complete the map.
His dreams had outstripped his abilities. He realised that now. If he had not been so dry he would have shed tears.
At some level, he supposed he had always known this. That’s why he had spent his life here behind his desk. Dispensing mastery through letters and paperwork. Bringing the world to order, bringing knowledge to the dark places of the earth.
His stare once more returned to the man before him and his fleck of white. He sat on his rock, waiting patiently.
What was he waiting for?
He had arrived yesterday. Dan had already been collapsed where he was for several hours at that point. Already resigned to defeat. He had walked in calmly and sat down. He had not acknowledged Dan in any way.
Dan should have felt relief, a renewal of hope. Yet he had not. He felt no surprise, no hope, nothing but a vague sense of threat.
He could not explain why he felt that.
The stranger was an aborigine. He was barely clothed, barefooted and dusty from his travels.
Dan had clothed himself with the very best outdoor gear he could get. He also had every travelling device you could ask for. Compass, knives, maps, glasses and much more.
In little more than a loincloth, the stranger looked infinitely more comfortable than he ever would.
He had sat there for a day and a half and still looked as composed as when he arrived.
Dan had stared at him for what felt like hours. He had no idea how long it had really been. Finally, he had summoned the energy to speak. He dragged a word from his throat as if regurgitating sandpaper.
“Help.”
The man stared back at him now. He had deep, dark irises on yellow pools. His face was wide and gentle.
Yet Dan still felt the threat peeking over his shoulder.
He seemed to study Dan for a long moment. Then he spoke.
“Where are you going?”
Dan had frowned. What was that supposed to mean? He was going nowhere right now.
He had swallowed hard and gathered his strength.
“How far?” It was all he could manage. He had wanted to ask where the nearest town was. The nearest house would have been enough!
The stranger stared again for a longer time. He had seemed to understand though and eventually, he said.
“It is four days walk.”
They had fallen silent then as Dan absorbed this. He would not survive a four-day walk. Not without help.
This stranger did not appear to be inclined towards aid.
There was another long silence. The stranger appeared relaxed as if he were sitting in his living room on a Sunday afternoon, reading.
Dan doubted he could read, doubted he had a living room.
Now he thought about it he didn’t even know where these people lived. In caves? In hovels?
He should really know that he had enough dealings with them. With their children at least. But they were always brought to him, he received them into civilisation.
Civilisation! The thought of it brought back memories that made him thirst, made his throat burn. He found himself involuntarily moaning – though it sounded more like a rasp.
The stranger stirred.
“What do you do?”
Dan did not understand. The man’s accent was thick but he understood the words, not the meaning.
“I am thirsty,” was the best reply he could manage.
The man looked at him with a measuring stare. Then he stood and strode to a nearby bush. With a flash of sunlight, he whipped out a knife and slashed off a thick, fleshy leaf.
It dripped with green liquid.
Any other time he would have been repulsed by anything other than tea or water. Now, this was nectar to him.
The man brought the leaf to his mouth and squeezed.
The taste was acrid and perhaps would have made him sick if he hadn’t been so desperately dry.
He swallowed and it gave him respite. His throat felt slick again and he could talk.
But he knew it was not enough – not enough to let him walk out of here and back home.
“More,” he pleaded.
The man simply sat back down calmly.
He repeated his question.
“What do you do?”
Confusion swirled around in his mind. Why did he not help him? Why didn’t he give him more of that liquid? It was a big bush – surely there was more in there.
What was he asking him? Did he want to know what his job was?
He should keep the man talking. Gain his trust, maybe then he would help.
In faltering sentences, he tried to describe his role in the education system to this native. He tried to keep it simple, in terms he might understand.
He wasn’t sure he succeeded. The man gave no reaction as he spoke. Eventually, Dan trailed into silence, exhausted by the effort.
After a short silence, the man said,
“You are a teacher man.”
It was not a question but Dan nodded.
Then the man spoke again.
“You take our children.”
It was spoken in the same calm tone he had spoken since he arrived. There was no anger or threat in them.
But Dan felt a chill nevertheless.
“We educate them, give them a better future.” He protested.
“They are not with their mothers.”
“But they are given knowledge they would not get otherwise. They will be greater for it. In my country – we do it too.”
“Did you miss your mother?”
That struck him, dredging up memories he thought he had buried long ago. Pain that he had considered childish and worthy of contempt.
“Mothers cannot teach what we know,” he said angrily.
The man gave him that measuring gaze again. Then he nodded.
Dan turned his head, not without some pain.
Nearby he saw a deer. It appeared to be completely unaware of their presence.
There was a younger one by its side. The older one nudged the younger to a bush where it proceeded to nibble.
Dan snorted. Did this savage think things were that simple?
“The world is changing. Your children need to know things, to be prepared.”
The man sat silently, calmly.
“The world is changing – you can’t stop it. There’s nothing you can do about that. Civilisation is coming.”
The man sighed. He picked the white fleck from his cheek, casually, and flicked it away.
“We can wait,” he said.
The information superhighway
It is a heavyweight
Data, redundancy
Processes
Alerts
Objectification
Frames
Presentations and investors
Response
Time
High availability
Validity
Technical, radical, practical, logical
Balancing load
Stresses
Testing
Testing
Test
Craving
Simplicity
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
Cheese, onions, bread and beer
Like it or hate it
Sharing an experience
Over thousands of years
Originally published in A Spring of Dreams
A spokesperson
That one who speaks
Has their own agenda
And will render
Your will
To theirs
There’s
A truth
To ponder
Every buzz and chime
On the phone
Is a worry
Something has gone down
Something is wrong
Another demand
On my time and my brain
Which are both drained
Something
Must change
A little more give
And a lot less just taking
More uplifting hands
If we just stop competing
Ivory towers will fall
In life’s tournament
There are Kings and Queens
For whom the suffering and pain
Is entertainment
There are fighters
There are spectators
There are hawkers of wares
There are thieves
But most of us
Are picking up
The horses shit
Scott Andrew Bailey - Author 
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